Two Halves Make A Whole
by Black Blood of the Red Rose
Summary: We all know our countries as strange, trouble making goofballs. But, underneath is a side filled with bloodlust and evil. To rid themselves of this second personality, a few nations will attend Hogwarts to block out their dark side.


**'Sup, my peeps! Welcome to my crossover!**

**First off, I would like to give a big round of applause to my amazeballs Beta: deathofaraven. She has helped me improve a lot!**

**So, due to my ADHD and insomnia updates on this story will be spontaneous. The next chapter could be up the next day or the next two weeks; it all depends.**

**This chapter is a lot shorter than what my usual chapters will be. So do not fret, my updates will get a lot longer.**

**I hope you enjoy it and leave a review, favorite, follow, ect. Flames will be accepted and used to roast marshmallows. (Any form of recognition is much appreciated!)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Harry Potter.**

* * *

A lone man stood hunched over the sink, clinging to it for support as a seemingly endless amount of hacking coughs shuddered through his body. After catching his breath, he wiped his mouth and chin. Red. Just like the insides of the sink. Sighing, he splashed water on his face and watched solemnly as the blood ran down the drain.

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, better known simply as England or Britian, leaned heavily against the kitchen countertop, resting his head in his hands. This was the second occurrence this week and he already felt as though he was being pushed over the edge. The nation scowled as he glanced at the clock. It was only 6:30 and he felt like he was going to pass out on the spot.

Rubbing a hand over his face, England's eyes wandered to his previous task. A red-splattered trail lead from a mixing bowl to where he stood. After a moment of confusion, realization struck him like a fist in his gut. Cupcakes. _Out of everything, why did it have to be cupcakes?!_ Each day seemed to throw another problem at the already troubled nation.

Abandoning the mess, England trudged down the hall and entered the bathroom that adjoined his bedroom. He dug around the glass cabinet above the sink and pulled out a needle filled with powerful medicine. Lightly slapping and flexing his forearm, he slide the needle into a vein and injected the medicine.

Five ounces remained and there were two more weeks of not having to deal with _him_; that is if the nation wasn't put under too much stress. Pushing his plans to restock to the back of his mind, the tired nation left to sleep off his worries. By tomorrow he hoped to be in tip-top shape to think of a solution.

* * *

Britain awoke the next day to a ray of warm sunlight in his eyes. He unenthusiastically rolled over to face his bedside table. 11:00 a.m. He let out an irritated groan. Despite having been put into a miniature coma, he still felt just as sick as last evening. Not eating dinner must have worsened the medicine's side effects. Another four minutes were wasted on the heavy debate of whether getting out of bed was worth it or not. England's responsible side won and the nation flopped out of the plush bed.

Now dressed as a proper gentleman, England stumbled into the kitchen. Disappointment struck him immediately upon seeing the bloodstains and the cupcake mix that had hardened into concrete. His plans for some comforting, homemade scones were now ruined.

"Ah, bloody hell..."

After fiercely scrubbing at the rust colored bloodstains and putting extra elbow grease into scraping off and washing the mixing bowl and whisk, England finally settled down for breakfast- or would it be considered lunch? Either way, the nation opted for the easy way out and reheated leftovers.

England finished his small bowl of beef stew with a satisfied sigh. Balancing on the back two legs of his creaking chair and propping his black Oxfords on the dinning table's edge, England pondered his options on dealing with _him_. As this week's attacks proved, he couldn't rely solemnly on the medication anymore. Going to the other nations was _definitely_ out of the question.

"I know!" England shouted, standing abruptly, as a light bulb lit over his head. "I'm sure magic will be able to solve this! I can go to Hogwarts and learn occlumency. It'll be hitting two birds with one stone: I can learn to control my dark side and deal with the nonsense that the ministry has been pulling." The nation puffed out his chest in pride, his ego swelling to the size of Prussia's. "Ha, I'm so hot I could kiss myself. Nothing can defeat the power of the British Empire!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Except for me, dude!"

England whirled around in surprise and stumbled backward over his dining room chair, knocking him and the chair to the floor with a loud bang upon seeing a certain blonde and rather obnoxious Yankee standing two feet away. "America?! What are you doing here?!"

"Hahaha! I was sneaking in so take your death scones launch them at Canadia with my slingshot But, you were rambling about how great you are when, obviously, I'm a bazillion time awesomer." The United States of America, simply addressed as America, replied in his usual happy-go-lucky attitude.

England scowled and jabbed a finger at him as he rose from the floor. "My cooking's not that bad, you moppet! And you can't just show up to someone's house uninvited! Why don't you go-"

"So Iggy, what's this Pigfarts place you were going on about?" America interrupted, with a small frown and raised eyebrows. "It better not another one of you made up things."

Britain's overly large eyebrows furrowed together as he dragged America to the foyer by the back of his jacket's collar, barely able to keep a grip on the other nation's squirming body. "It's Hogwarts, you wanker. And I'll have you know it is a prestigious wizarding school in my magic community."

America being America, he read the atmosphere incorrectly and remained ebullient with his seemingly endless chatter and flamboyant gestures.

"Wow! That sounds totally wicked! Can I come?" he yelled with a fist pump, accidentally punching a jagged hole in the red corridor wall.

"America! You're paying for that!" England yelled. It was America's terrible twos all over again. "And no, you can't come," he continued harshly, pulling the troublesome nation to his feet and swinging open front door.

A hurt look flashed across America's face, a perfect imitation of a kicked puppy. "What? Why not?"

The Englishman slapped his forehead. _Here comes the guilt trip..._ Despite being over his parenting years, he still found it difficult to overcome America's pleading look. "B-Because you have no reason to be there other than to be annoying. Besides, you're hardly involved in your own magic community, why would I let you be involved in mine? Now go away, I far too busy for your nonsense."

Before he could kick , America clamped his hands down on England's shoulders. "Wait, bro. You mentioned something about your... other half earlier."

"What? No!" In a panic, England shoved him out the door, causing the other nation to stumble onto the porch. "Whywouldyousaythat?"

America braced the door with his foot before it could be slammed in his face. "It's hard to control him, isn't it? That's why you going there; to get rid of him."

England turned as red as one of Romano's tomatoes. Sighing in defeat and frustration, he reluctantly answered. After all, it couldn't hurt... Could it? "Yes, America. It's painfully hard to shove him back into his little cage in the back of my head. I just want it to stop; to be able to sleep without wondering if the medicine worked or if I'll last another day."

As if he had been infected by his friend's anxiety, America pursed his lips into a thin line and stared at the ground. "... I wanna come."

England suddenly looked as if the world was resting in his shoulders. He rubbed his forehead with a groan. "America, please, just-"

"No! I-I need to come." The two stared each other in the eye; both of their usually vibrant eyes, were dulled by confusion and sudden sorrow. "He's been... troublesome lately and with the number of enemies I have, a lot could go wrong. Besides, what type of hero would I be if I let go you by yourself?"

Britain shook his head and gave an empty laugh. "Alright... You can come." Hopeful smiles grew across both of their faces. "Just try not to screw anything up."

"Pft, bitch please. You're talking about the hero, here. I'm always right."

"Go on, get out of here, you twit." England continued to tease, waving a hand as if shooing off a fly. "School doesn't start until September first, so meet me here next week to collect letters and supplies."

The young nation was already bounding across the lawn with a bright smile. "See us later, Eyebrows!"

"Yankee!" he shouted over America, who was singing his national anthem.

* * *

England tapped his foot lightly and speedily as he stared at the rotary phone. He had just finished talking to his boss, but there was still one dreading phone call left to make. His brother. England hadn't gotten along with Scotland (or any of his four brothers for that matter) very well growing up and since the 13th century his brothers hated him.

Bracing himself, he dialed the number.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Fou-

"Hello?"

_Damn, no going back now._

He licked his lips nervously and took a shaky breath. _Just try to sound as friendly as possible._ "Hello, Scotty..."

A tsk of annoyance came from his brother.

"I told you not to call me that." Scotland growled.

Peachy. Everything was already screwed up and they had just spoken a little over ten words. England shifted in his cushiony office chair and rubbed the back of his neck. "Hehe... yeah... Anyways, I was hoping you could do a favor for an old chap."

* * *

**Published: 6-12-14**


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